che devoted to some antique Madonna, the terrace has all the charm of
a _campo santo_ without the chill of the grave upon it; or were a few
cowled monks to walk with folded arms along its space, one might fancy
it the cloister of a monastery. And here of a summer's night, burning no
other lights than the stars, and sipping iced lemonade, one of the
specialties of the place, the intimates of Villino Trollope sit and talk
of Italy's future, the last _mot_ from Paris, and the last allocution at
Rome.

Many charming persons have we met at the Villino, the recollection of
whom is as bright and sunny to us as a June day,--persons whose lives
and motive-power have fully convinced us that the world is not quite as
hollow as it is represented, and that all is not vanity of vanities. In
one corner we have melodiously wrangled, in a _tempo_ decidedly _allegro
vivace_, with enthusiastic Mazzinians, who would say clever, sharp,
cruel things of Cavour, the man of all men to our way of thinking, "the
one man of three men in all Europe," according to Louis Napoleon.
Gesticulation grew as rampant at the mention of the French Emperor, who
was familiarly known as "_quel volpone_," (that fox,) as it becomes
to-day in America at the mention of Wendell Phillip's name to one of the
"Chivalry." Politics ran high in Italy in these days of the
_Renaissance_, and to have a pair of stout fists shaken in one's face in
a drawing-room for a difference of opinion is not as much "out of order"
as it would be on this more phlegmatic side of the Atlantic, where fists
have a deep significance not dreamed of by expansive Italians. In
another corner we have had many a _tete-a-tete_ with Dall' Ongaro, the
poet, who is as quick at an _impromptu_ as at a malediction against "_il
Papa_," and whose spirited recitations of his own patriotic poems have
inspired his private audiences with a like enthusiasm for Italian
liberty. Not unlike Garibaldi in appearance, he is a Mazzini-Garibaldian
at heart, and always knowing in the ways of that mysterious prophet of
the "Reds" who we verily believe fancies himself author not only of the
phrase "_Dio ed il Popolo_," but of the reality as well. When Mazzini
was denied entrance into Tuscany under pain of imprisonment, and yet, in
spite of Governor Ricasoli's decree, came to Florence _incognito_, it
was Dall' Ongaro who knew his hiding-place, and who conferred with him
much to the disgust and mortification of the Governor and